Adventure 1: Getting Familiar With The Locals

Light blue streaks poked through retreating clouds. As the storm moved on, it left the forest weeping a staccato rhythm of irregular tears. Emerging from a large rustwood's sheltering boughs, a drenched and miserable Valon winced at the slippery brown streak that the storm had made of the dirt road. His weary eyes left the road, frowning at his rain-cleaned boots. His pruned toes squelched as he fidgeted. The mud caking his threadbare trousers pressed them tightly against his legs; he was even more sure that a stout fart would force him to continue through south-western Valgravia without pants. A ghostly fabric skin clung to his soft frame, amplifying the irregular dark streaks of body hair. The once-sharp point of his light blue graduate wizard's hat sagged. The floppy tip drizzled its cold piss perilously close to his pack. Reaching up, he adjusted the snug hat to the same jaunty angle he'd set before, just on the other side where it could flail and drip harmlessly. Testing it with a gentle wobble of his too-large head, Valon gave a small satisfied grunt when it stayed on. He was glad he'd stashed his robe; he knew he'd want a good blanket tonight.

Valon resumed walking, moving far faster than man would expect of a short, plump man. When asked why, he'd claimed he hated walking, and faster walking meant less walking. In truth, he enjoyed walking; it was dawdling he couldn't stand. The idiots who asked that type of question dawdled. He'd met a lot of those at college. Just thinking about those cone-headed idiots got Valon's blood boiling and feet bounding. Mud slurped at his boots that barely had time to sink before it was in motion again.

Expecting vast power and mental stimulation, Valon had been greeted by pettiness and politicking. He'd learned quickly that talent didn't matter, only connections: the most comfortable assignments were gifted to highest-born or wealthiest students, while anyone who showed skill got conscripted to defending the border. Valon didn't care for either, so hid his talents and extracurricular research behind getting drunk and trying to bed every willing man he could find. He'd scraped through the exams, earning just enough to be assigned as the local hedge wizard in some backwoods area that wouldn't embarrass the college too much. Healing livestock, maintaining crops and dealing with the rare monster: it was a joke assignment for joke wizards. "This time, the joke's on them," Valon thought, cackling. He imagined a future where his plans were revealed, and his famous supervisor tugging tufts of hair out of his chin. "If old Grimbeard knew what I was up to, pretty soon they'd be calling him 'Babyface' instead!"

Valon thought it would be well-earned too: when he'd gone to meet Grimbeard after the final exams, the first thing that he'd noticed was his supervisor's smug grin struggling to spread across his face. "You're being sent to Ganic's Stand; there at least you can't cause too much trouble." Valon feigned disappointment, just to nudge the old man into cementing the idea that this was an apt punishment. Grimbeard had pointed it out on a map: it was a farming hamlet on the corner of part of the Royal Forest. Valon had squinted to keep his widening pupils from alerting Grimbeard: the place was perfect for what he intended on getting up to. "Just as long as it has a good tavern!"

Valon enjoyed taverns - possibly a little too much - and wished he was in a warm, dry one right now instead of trudging the last few miles to Ganic's Stand. He couldn't wait to start trying out the local brew, and the local men, once the more immediate needs of warmth and dryness had been tended to.

Valon itched at the mess of black hair spilling out irregularly from under his hat. "Can't wait to get this blasted thing off my head." He was supposed meet the mayor in full uniform, but he doubted anyone out here knew enough about wizard rules anyway; the hat was probably the only necessary part. "Too bad it keeps the bandits away," he sighed wistfully. Ne'er-do-wells were some of his favourite people, but they avoided wizards, especially wizards that looked like they were already cut off from their family's fortune. He was a triple threat: he had nothing to steal, would earn nothing from ransom but trouble with the law, and could wipe out your whole band with a sneeze.

Still daydreaming of being waylaid out of his misery, Valon turned at the sound of hooves clomping through the mud, the murmur of chatter and the occasional whinny. He moved off the road, just at the point where the forest ended and the farmland began. Valon squinted: it was an armed and mounted patrol of four heading along the road. They slowed as the vanguard spotted him; and he returned the looks with a quick study of his own as they approached.

Only the first one looked to be a tough customer. Grizzled, greying, bristly and manly, with an old scar slicing across his face. "Probably used to be a soldier," Valon thought, smiling slightly: soldiers could be fun sometimes, especially when they'd been away from women for a while, and some kind of got a taste for not having them around. He imagined the older man's hard, scarred body wielding the "club" nature gave him.

Besides him was the pretty boy: Valon's teeth started to grind, reminded of some of his more aggravating fellow graduates. Even though they were secured under his helmet, Valon could practically feel how silky his golden hair was, and he was also tall and handsome. The village girls probably flocked to him, though Valon mused that he could be the type that wasn't particularly fussy about whom he shared his bed. Valon wondered what that pretty face would look staring up at him, mouth filled with cock.

Behind him was a thick, mountainous sort who looked like he could flex out of his armour: admittedly they all just had leather armour, but Valon considered it to be an impressive feat. With his thick black hair - that Valon imagined was all over - and his plain face, Valon had this third guard pegged as a farmer or blacksmith's son. He occasionally talked to some of the male whores he frequented during his time at college, and noticed a few lower-tiered sons of farmers and blacksmiths that could very well have been fathered in a stable for how big their equipment was.

Coming in the rear was a round, nervous-looking guy that clutched his mace a little too tightly. "Captain's son sent out to learn some self-discipline, or distraction if they actually manage to find a monster?" Valon mused cruelly, then felt a little guilty and wondered whether he was turning into just another insufferable, mediocre magician. "Besides, the fat ones are often very good with their mouths, can be very enthusiastic in bed and sometimes have surprisingly huge dicks."

Valon smiled as they stared down at him, showing off his slightly crooked, but otherwise fine teeth. Still mentally undressing them from his armour, he asked, "Good day, gents! How far is it to Garic's Stand? Feels like I've been walking forever."

The pretty boy gave a derisory glance at him, and grinned at him like a pile of horse manure, "Lost your troupe, little man?"

If he was expecting the others to join in, that possibility was quickly halted from a warning glare from the older one. "That's a wizard, you idiot" he growled under his breath. His hand went to the pommel of the weapon sheathed by his side. Valon couldn't tell what it was from his angle. He coughed. "Not far. You got business there?"

Valon tapped his cap. "I'm the new hedge wizard for the area. Well, I will be once I've met with the mayor to make things official." He smiled apologetically. "I'd let you read my contract, but it's in the middle of my pack. Didn't want it to get wet. Unless you need it, of course?" He knew what the answer was going to be; he'd had enough run-ins with guards to read them. Pretty Boy was still sulking after being put in his place, something which thrilled Valon no end. The Big One was just staring at him, and The Fat One was doing that while seeming to sweat despite the cool air. He wouldn't have any trouble from them. Old Soldier might, but he looked like he just wanted to get away from the kids and some place warm.

Old Soldier's stance softened. "It's another couple of miles, you're not too far. Good luck getting Ed; his mayorship'll be in the Two-Headed Pig likely as anything. If you want something official, Warden Oulders'll be at the town hall."

"Fantastic! Thank you very much!" Gesturing with his stubby fingers, Valon plucked a gold coin seemingly out of thin air: it had actually just teleported from his coin purse in his pack, and that was a fairly simple cantrip, but even Pretty Boy seemed impressed by it. The Fat One nearly dropped his club.

Valon's attempt at flicking the coin to Old Soldier didn't impress anyone. The coin splattered down in the mud, and Valon squatted down, suddenly very aware of just how threadbare his pants were. Dismissing the thought, he quickly became dogged in his determination to pick up the slippery gold piece as it escaped him through the mud.

He could hear stifled laughter, until Old Soldier cleared his throat; it did its job of stopping Valen mid-track, while shutting up the others quickly. "Just thank me and the lads next time you see us at the Two-Headed Pig. We've got a patrol to finish. Nice to meet you, wizard!"

"You can call me Valon! And nice meeting you, too!" Valon exclaimed cheerfully, proudly waggling the muddy coin as they rode, their forms shrinking in front of him. He continued to smile well after they were gone, before cheekily flicking the coin into the air, where it spun like a top, twinkling out of existence before popping back into his purse. To the wind, he muttered, "Never hurts to have people think you're dumber or clumsier than you actually are." His grin turned lecherous as he started walking. "And now I've got four guys who'll be looking out for me to get their next round. Always handy when you might want company to drink under the table and into your bedchamber..."

Realising just how long it had been since he'd had sex, Valon continued walking, the outskirts of the village becoming visible now that he was free from the forest. Looking back, he wondered how long it had been since anyone had gone hunting in them. "Probably a while; no doubt the royals are worried that revolutions are contagious. The Brackenwell Civil War sounded especially bloody." Fortunately for Valon, Brackenwell and its peasant rebellion were more than a half-kingdom away from him, and handily keeping all of the court's eyes away from what he was planning on getting up to.

Shivering a little because of the cold, Valon increased his pace. He considered what Old Soldier had told him. A visit to the local watering hole sounded fantastic: he could dry off and warm up, and get to meet a few more of the locals, maybe sow some seeds for later; on the other hand, he did want to start getting unpacked, and he'd probably need a key for wherever he was going to be stashed. "Especially if I wanted to have company for the evening."

Turning the options over in his mind, Valon continued to walk, practising some simple, magically-enhanced sleight-of-hand with the coin. Ganic's Stand grew to meet him: the village centre only had about two dozen buildings in it, so there wasn't a great deal that needed growing. The only building he could discern was the church: the steeple was short, but noticeable. He hoped the inn and the town hall were close enough to each other.

After a while, he started to hear signs of life, as the villagers started to move around. He could feel eyes on him; a growing vagueness that became more certain as the buildings grew in size, and confirmed when he started to see the folk of Garic's Stand pause at their business to look at him. "Blacksmith. Woodcutter. Mill. Bakehouse. Market." Valon named every building he recognised, nodding to the villagers with a friendly grin on his face. As much as he disliked people, he knew he'd need them to be comfortable with him if he was going to have any luck with his plans, and didn't fancy being run out of town.

Spotting some boys chatting near the village well, Valon went up to them, coin at the ready. "Good day, young gents!" He looked at them, smiling to hide an intense revulsion that he suddenly felt towards these dirty, slack-mouthed children that were now gawking at him. "Can one of you tell me where the town hall is, and the Two-Headed Pig?"

"Izzup dare," one of the boys slurred, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. Valon followed it, seeing a swinging tavern sign. Another boy pointed over to a short, wide building that wasn't too far from the church.

"Thanks, gents!" Valon replied, now very keen to be away from the boys. He decided to forego the trickery. "Hold out your hands, like so. Now close them into fists." He wasn't about to waste a gold coin on children, but a bit of magic and some silver, he felt, wouldn't go astray.

"Coo, how did you do that?!" one of the other boys asked as his friends opened their hands, their eyes growing, but Valon was already leaving them behind. Just thinking of the children made him shudder.

He glanced over at the tavern; the guards he'd met on the road weren't in there - he could see them further along the main road through the village - but who knew who was in there right now, other than, supposedly, the mayor? Or maybe it'd be better if he got the keys and directions towards where he would be staying, for who knew when that would close?